The Sale

“I’m interested in this.”

Parmack laid a drawing out across the oak counter. Lines on the parchment were rough, curves subtle, but the smithy could tell what was drawn there. 

The Greatsword of Ahm-En-Suul.

And though the old merchant wanted no part of this affair at all, the fierce warrior took rather unkindly to negative answers.

Endil Wackan, blacksmith of kings, looked his rough customer dead in the eye.

“Aye.” Endil replied. “I’ve heard of it, but it’s lost. Gone for all time, it’s said, melted in dragon-fire.”

Parmack’s eyebrow rose, in an elusive way that gave no hint of his disposition at all.

“I have many other fine blades.” Endil continued. “Sil-Blades, Mystaran Hammers. I think I may have an old Baran greatsword left over from the War.”

The stoic warrior’s face still offered no expression.

Anxiety turned to fear in Endil’s stomach as the seconds ticked by. This soldier was known to cut out the tongues of liars.

“Very well.” Parmack’s gray eyes pierced the smith through to the back of his skull. Endil was certain he felt something in that instant.

“Lead the way.” The warrior uttered. “I’d like to see what I’m buying.”

Parmack’s words cut Endil to the bone. What he was buying? As if he’d already made the purchase. What did that mean?

Icy terror replaced the marrow in Endil’s bones as he realized exactly what Parmack meant.

The immense warrior already knew Endil did indeed have the sword he was after.

Home

http://jseatonblog.tumblr.com/post/96539645170/inside-the-forest-part-ii-by-jjcanvas

Twelve years is a long time to be gone, to be imprisoned.
Twelve years since he'd seen his home, twelve years since the raid.
Jaq-ci knew it would not be a heart-felt reunion. It'd had been  his bull-bullheadedness that had gotten him captured in the first place.
If only his imprisonment had been the extent of the consequences of his actions. But they weren't.
His anger had brought the wrath of a great and powerful army upon the innocent people of his woodland village. His pride was as much to blame for the death and suffering that followed the attack by the Hatar as any invading army.
And after twelve years of punishing him for his crimes against them, the Hatar had sent him home to face the rest of his sentence.
The timing of his release was not coincidental. It was only after Jaq-ci had accepted his role in the invasion that the Hatar had let him go.
"I was young." Jaq-ci would say. "Full of pride, and ambition. But I didn't destroy my own homeland."
But he'd had as much a hand in it as the Hatar. It was Jaq-ci who'd attacked the Hatar's trade caravans over an imagined slight on his fiance. It was Jaq-ci who'd incited civic pride and moral superiority to whip his compatriots into a frenzy, all so they would help him gain a measure of revenge.
In the end, Jaq-ci had learned there hadn't even been an incident. He'd merely misheard a few words from a language he didn't fully understand in the first place. But the pride and vanity of youth hadn't allowed him to make that determination, and his ambition to prove himself worthy had  barred him from acknowledging even a simple mistake.
And the villagers whom he'd so desired so much respect and admiration had payed for that pride, many with their very lives.
He'd thought about running. The world was a big place, after all.
That idea was cast aside. This was his home, even if no one wanted him there.
And so Jaq-ci returned to Tres-Oakes, village of his birth.
He wasn't killed outright upon his return, though that sentiment did run through the village throughout his life. But he was an outcast, shunned by most, and constantly reminded of the mistakes of his youth by the yawning chasm of emptiness left by the death of his beloved, who'd died not at the hands of the enemy, nor her own people, but at her own.
Jaq-ci's life did serve one positive purpose however, as a lesson in humility for generations to come.

Escape

Cold wind pushed into the room as Dale forced the frozen window open; not an easy task holding a gun. But he wasn't

about to put the weapon down, no sir.

Footsteps thudded behind him. He knew what was approaching, and it terrified him. Struggling out the window, Dale fell into a foot of soft snow.

The heavy footfalls subsided.

 Dale’s heart fell into his stomach. He had nowhere to go. Miles around showed nothing but a peaceful white landscape that was actually anything but peaceful.

Having no choice, Dale turned around to try his luck in any random direction. Anything was better than going back into the building, and certain death.

Then the heart that had fallen into his stomach dropped into his shoes.

She was there, awaiting him like a coquettish young lover, with no inhibitions, no shame, and no clothes.

Suddenly a voice, the voice that had guided him through the dangers inside, rose inside his mind.

“Bullets are now ineffective.”

Dale dropped the gun as the svelte young woman took seductive steps toward him, hips swaying back and forth in a mesmerizing pattern. Only one thing left to try.

Dale shot forward, took her in his arms and kissed her like it was their last day on earth.

It wasn't. Because he meant that kiss, meant it because at one time she had been his true love, before her body had been invaded. His kiss, and his love, freed them both from the tyranny of possession.

Patience

Despite the howling wind’s best effort, Dorian stood firm upon the green grass, looking out over the cliffs to the wild, reckless ocean.  She awaited her love’s return.

Long had he been gone; absent from her life. She clung to him in her heart though, and the belief that he would someday return.

Years she had spent on these cliffs, hoping, praying.

“You asked for it, you know.”

Em’s brusque voice cut through the wind, as though the breeze itself were scared of Dorian’s imposing sister.

“Falling in love with that uncouth sailor.” Em continued. “Now you come up here , so everyone can see you and feel sorry for the poor seaman’s bride.”

Dorian blinked, careful not to let her hostile sibling see the motion. Em wasn’t concerned with her sister’s well-being, she was jealous the younger woman had found love, where Em herself was lonely, and bitter.

It needn’t have been that way. Em was beautiful, passionate, and charming in her own way. But fate had taken her chosen from her at an early age. Instead of accepting what happened and moving on, Em had instead become resentful, and angry. Now she wanted her sister to join her in that misery.

But Dorian held on to love, held on to hope.

“I wish you could see things differently, Em. Life is not against you, and neither is anyone else. If you could just…”

“Bah.” Em waved off Dorian’s reply and departed.

Dorian turned to await her true love.

To the End?

His armor should have chafed. It used too, back during a time when things were simpler, clearer.

Without realizing it, Stavross had actually gotten used to the discomfort. Now that it was gone, an ironic sense of melancholy had settled over his soul. The oddly uncomfortable had become the strangely consoling.

“You’ll get used to it.”

Myrna could read his mind. A trait in exceptional women, he’d noticed. Stav’s mother had always seemed to know what he was thinking, and she was exceptional indeed. Until he met Myrna, Stavross had chalked it up to matronly wisdom.

“I don’t want to be used to it,” Stavross replied. “I just want to go home.”

Stav peered out over the balcony to wide green fields behind a rocky chain of hills.

Myrna drew up beside him.

“I know.”

“But this is home now, isn’t it?” Stavross asked.

Myra’s silence answered quite succinctly.

Heavy weights of a king’s burden pulled his shoulders down.

“We are the chosen ones.” Stavross stated flatly, in a statement of neither question or fact. “Aren’t we?”

After a moment of reflection on the landscape around them, Stavross turned to his love. Deep eyes conveyed the true sorrow in his mind, and the devotion of his heart.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Myrna replied, seeing in his eyes the depth of his emotions. “I’m still glad to be with you.”

Stav’s eyes went wide.

“Really? Even if it is the end?”

“Even if it’s the very end, my love.”

Written by:

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Lessons

Endemic wastelands stretched across a vast sea of desolation, filling the mind’s eye with a scene of apocalyptic proportions. Nothing lay here now save dissolute souls of the defeated, and the dust of a thousand civilizations.

Across a barren world, the landscape remained the same. Oceans were dry, mountains toppled, lakes arid; nothing lived.

Behold a brown dot in the night sky to mark the grave of a once-vibrant world in a dying universe.

Two stood amidst the rubble. Red eyes peered across the handiwork of those who’d come before. To them this bare, inhospitable landscape was a lecture, a mere lesson on a blackboard.

Metallic voices debated the merits of the day’s session.

“It seems such a waste.”

“Perhaps.” said another, reverberating deeper into the dusk of evening. “If there were no more worlds. Yet, this is not the case.”

“Still, there could have been much potential here, if it were only seen and recognized.”

A long pause emphasized the impudence of that bold statement.

“When this world was pristine, I saw it with my own eyes. I saw the arrogant creatures who pretended to rule. And I say to you now, there was no potential here.”

And yet the student continued to protest.

“And yet, I see no signs of our own progress in this forsaken wasteland.”

“No, you do not.” answered the instructor. “See the signs of our victory.”

And with those words, the day's lesson was concluded.

Written by:

The Death Maze

http://fantasyart101.tumblr.com/post/96023481539/gallantgambler-brandon-liao

Cold cave water dripped down, echoing across the walls of the great cavern. 

The expedition was in trouble, and they knew it. They were lost.

Back and forth they'd gone, searching for the way out in the way they'd come in. It had to be there, how else had they gotten down here?

The cave seemed to want them inside. Walls would shift behind their backs, and sometimes right before their eyes, if only one of them were watching. Of course, this simply made the explorers all the more panicked.
Hours became days, and the urgency grew higher. Their shouts became louder, for help, at each other. How would they escape?
A sinister presence permeated the group, of this they were now certain. Huddled, starving, cringing in a corner without the strength to move, the dark force crept closer and closer. One by one, the explorers closed their eyes and never opened them again.
There did they lay until a century later, when another curious group fell into the grip of Turnor Cave, or as the ancients called it, the Death Maze.

Her Long Journey

http://otherworldrealms.tumblr.com/post/92438659682/norse-nature-spirit-the-passage-by

Her long journey had finally led here. 

The pristine valley spread out below. Aira stood, looking out across the dense landscape. 

Everything she'd heard about the valley was true. A graceful waterfall flowed down out of sight. Birds on a wing flew above, soaring into a darkening sky.

Here the road led, here the path ended. In she must go.

For here lay her true calling, within she would find her destiny. A destiny of love, knowledge, and ultimate betrayal.

For all power carries with it such perils. Men covet power above all else, and that which Aira sought was the ultimate power and as such, held the ultimate risk.

But the danger would be worth the price. After all, what else had she too lose? Already she'd been through love and loss, seen beauty and brutality, felt the graceful touch of passion, and the powerful sting of violence.

Her pysche already scarred, why then shouldn't she have the power as well? At least with the power in hand, she could bring the hammer of justice to those who needed it, deserved it. 

And bring it she would.

Aira spent ten years in the Noth Cave, secreted away from the world, learning the secrets of magical arts from creatures long thought extinct from the world.

And when she returned, she brought not only justice, but a wreaking vengeance that knew no bounds, no bounds at all.

Of the Hunter

http://otherworldrealms.tumblr.com/post/92439063697

In a sunlit cove, upon the bones of ancient sentinels, stands the Hunter

Stalking his prey, waiting for the moment to strike

He walks in shadows, lurks in the night, the dark is his ally

None hear him save those he wishes, none see him save those he targets, none live save those he misses

And the Hunter, never misses

Always with an arrow ready does he stand

Always with a steady arm does he pull

Always with a keen eye does he aim

Always do his foes fall

The swamp is his domain, the trees are his castle, the shadows are his battlements

Creatures of the morass, alligators, snakes, lizards and spiders

These are his friends, his allies, his army

They stand at his command, attack on his orders, kill at his whim

Who knows his name? None, for no one enters the swamp and lives

Who knows what he really is, what he really stands for? Who knows, of the Hunter?

The Swamp of Lost Souls

http://otherworldrealms.tumblr.com/post/92439073742/mr-dreamscape

"This is just downright spooky."

"Ya, for sure." A squeaky voice agreed. "Why do we have to go in here anyway?"

Los rolled his eyes. They'd gone over this ad nauseum before leaving the inn.

"Because," their tall leader remarked angrily, "the only cure for the Virox plague is in this swamp."
"Says who?" the first voice asked, a deep, raspy voice belonging to the only real warrior in the group, and he wasn't much of one at all.

"Says me." Los answered. "You don't need to know where all my information comes from. You do know you're getting paid, and that should be enough."

"You didn't say nothin' about goin' into no swamp." Rath replied in his heavy accent. Rath talked like he was always out of breath. It didn't inspire the greatest confidence in his fighting abilities.

"Yea." Ensil replied, his high voice seeming to carry across the entire swamp. 

"Perhaps not," Los replied. "but I did say it might be dangerous. But then again, it might not be. After all, we haven't run into anything scary yet, have we?"

Neither of Los' hired hands answered, merely trying to peer through the thick mist of the swamp.

The trio pushed on through the twisted maze of mire and trees and moss, looking for an old woman's shack. An old woman who was reputed to know anything and everything about sickness, diseases and plagues. 

Their arguments echoed out through the swamp, and to this day it is said they can be heard shouting at one another. For the brave expedition of three never emerged from the Swamp of Lost Souls, though they did earn the bog its eerie nickname.

from Falls a Dark Shadow

Caerish leaned in to Lenar as the group neared the outpost. Tynaul heard the lord whispering to the nervous young man.

“Just keep calm, my friend. Everything will be fine.”

 Tynaul could just see the young man’s face turning white as they approached the guards at the entrance to the outpost. Tynaul felt a sharp prick in his back, reminding him that Kint was just a push away from ending his life should he deviate from the plan. Tynaul began to summon the power he’d called upon the night before in his meditation.

The guards viewed the newcomers with a mix of acknowledgment and suspicion. Obviously, they wouldn’t know any of them, but these men were wearing Arcanian uniforms, and in a camp of a thousand men, it was only natural to forget some faces. The guards lowered spears as the group approached.

“Who goes there?”

“Name’s Cavendish, you big ox.” Caerish shouted. “We were out on patrol and caught us a rebel spy. Brought him right back here straight away, we did. Now let us in, we’re tired and we want to get rid of this baggage and put our feet up.”

Suddenly a larger man in a more elaborate set of armor appeared from behind the gate. Tynaul knew Sargeant Graitis on sight, and his entire plan hinged on Graitis recognizing him as well. Tynaul called on his power as Graitis approached the group. Tynaul leaned back and touched the tip of Kint’s sword, quietly uttering the arcane words of a paralyzing spell.

Graitis stood in front of Caerish, a suspicious scowl on his face.

“So where did you capture this fool, anyway? Was he by himself?”

Caerish was about to respond to Graitis in the answers he’d prepared, when the sergeant’s attention was suddenly torn away.  Caerish heard footsteps behind him. A familiar young voice called out in a firm authority, to which Caerish merely closed his eyes in acquiescence.

Poor Lenar was practically shaking in fear.

Tynaul pushed past the startled lord and the terrified young man, rubbing his wrists where the ropes were now falling off his arms. Tynaul stood in front of Graitis just long enough for the sergeant to begin to comprehend just who he was and what was going on.

“Sargeant Graitis, I know you remember me, but let’s just make this official. I am Commander Tynaul Lysis. By His Imperial Majesty’s order I hereby take command of this outpost.” Tynaul took a step forward, looking the tall, brusque sergeant straight in the eye, and saw exactly the moment when Graitis understood the truth. Graitis took a step back, bowed slightly, and then saluted his superior officer in the cross-shoulder Arcanian way.

“These men behind me are the rebel leaders.” Tynaul continued. “Take them into custody immediately. You.” Tynaul pointed to the guard on Graitis’ left side. “Take me to the quartermaster, then to the command tent. Immediately.”

A long, anxious hush fell over the company for a moment as the situation sank in to each and every person present. Suddenly Graitis looked around at his men in frustration.

“Well, don’t just stand there like dung-piles,” he yelled, “get moving!”

More guards appeared from behind the massive sergeant holding chains and manacles. They quickly stripped all three of the stunned men behind Tynaul of their weapons. The scarred one in the back gave them trouble, as he seemed to be refusing to move at all. They had to force his hands behind him at last.

Tynaul turned one last time to look at Caerish and the other two before entering the camp. Kint’s hatred was readily apparent, as was Lenar’s extreme terror. Lord Caerish seemed completely untroubled. His eyes locked onto Tynaul, who was suddenly unable to look back at him. Tynaul turned into the outpost, unable to shake Caerish’s tranquil gaze from his mind.

Dangerous Knowledge

http://fantasy-art-engine.tumblr.com/post/96283155189/dragon-above-the-valley-by-michael-chang

Daleon, valley of kings, realm of the holy, keepers of the wisdom of light. For hundreds of years the City in the Mountains had lain undisturbed, and untouched by the wider world. 

Daleon was a place of learning, of wisdom and understanding, a place where scholars and sages gathered knowledge from around the world. From here, the legacies and legends from a thousand civilizations could remain pure and incorruptible. Here the scrolls of ancient prophecy and dark myth were safe, guarded.

But some knowledge is meant to be forgotten, and some things should never be discovered at all. Some information has a way of twisting those that know it, turning them from decent folks to people with dark and deadly ambitions. Such is the nature of power, and some information is in fact power in its purest form.

And so the enemies of knowledge impelled their most dangerous allies to find the hidden city, and lay low its mighty walls and arrogant scholars. For who were they to keep secrets from the kings of the earth? Did these sages think they could steal secrets with impunity, simply because they had no hostile intent?

Intent made little difference in the end, when the dragons found the city and burned Daleon to the ground. 

Rumor held that no one escaped the carnage and conflagration that ensued, and much was certainly lost in that fatal attack. 

Some few believe that not all the sages were massacred that day, that some few escaped, perhaps with the very knowledge the dragons were sent there to destroy. 

None however, know for sure. For some things are not meant to be known.

You could have told me...

http://spassundspiele.tumblr.com/post/96244745836/brothers-in-arms-warlord-concept

"You could have told me he was a giant." Barcus grumbled.
The ground shook as the great creature took another step forward.
"No answer, huh?" Barcus asked, moving his shoulder to adjust the battle-ax strapped across his back.
Endu, his silent, brooding companion, merely watched as the mighty mountain guardian moved closer and closer.
"So, are we supposed to fight this thing or what?" Barcus asked. On this one, he expected an answer. None, however, seemed to be forthcoming.
Boom!  The ground shook as the giant took another long stride toward the weathered warriors.
"Uh, Endu?" Barcus' voice begged, the strain beginning to show. Boom! "Endu!?"
Finally Endu spoke, but not the words Barcus wanted, or needed, to hear.
"Quiet now, my friend. He cannot see our fear."
"Our fear?" Barcus remarked. "You mean mine. By your look, we could be watchin' a parade."
Indeed, Endu was as calm as a meandering brook in autumn.
In fact, Barcus had never seen Endu so much as concerned in the ten years he'd known the strange easterner. Deep down, Barcus had hoped to get at least some reaction here, but his dream was for naught.
"Perhaps I should speak for us both?" Endu asked off-hand, as though he were asking a polite favor.
"Speak? You mean we're not going to kill this thing?"
"Of course not." Endu replied calmly. "This is no foe."
The earth was rumbling as the giant approached. Barcus struggled to keep his footing, while Endu seemed not not notice the shaking at all.
The creature halted, just within striking distance. Tense silence passed between giant and human.
Barcus gripped his sword tightly, ready to strike. Endu stood perfectly still, his bow down, head up, considering the giant stranger.
Suddenly Endu bowed low, turned and dropped calmly off the round rock upon which he stood.
The giant looked down at Barcus, raised his great hammer, and swung it casually over his shoulder. Turning around, the giant thundered away, shaking the ground as he went.
Barcus was rooted to the spot for a long moment, first watching the giant stroll away, then facing his wayward companion.
Running to catch up, Barcus finally grabbed Endu's shoulder and whirled him around.
"Okay, what was that?"
Endu's face was sad, as though he's just heard some terrible news, or perhaps delivered it. The expression, so strange on his calm companion, threw Barcus for a loop.
"What, what is it man?"
Endu stopped cold. Barcus turned, looking at his old friend with genuine concern.
"He is dying." Endu said at last, a tint of sadness in his voice. "He has asked us to fulfill his dying wish."
Barcus blinked, even more confused. This was the last thing he expected.
"Well, what does he want is to do?"
"Find his companion." Endu said.
"But, there are no more giants in the world. I didn't even know that one was still around."
"There is one other." Endu replied.
"Okay, well where is he, or she?"
Endu shook his head.
"I have no idea."

A Happy Labor Day to all

http://aphrodisiacart.tumblr.com/post/96349918708/aphrodisiacart-cornacchia

She Ended

http://jseatonblog.tumblr.com/post/95994239173/dragon-hunter-by-dleoblack

The war was over. Victory was in hand at last.

But at what cost? Both sides incurred innumerable losses. No one was spared the suffering of grief and sorrow.

Yet what else could have been done? Their freedom, their way of life, had been threatened by greed and dark chains of oppression. Should they not fight for what they believe in? Should they not stand for their families and those they love?

Smoldering fields of the dead answered those questions well enough. They would fight, and die, to protect those they loved.

She ended the war, with a battle so calculated and precise the enemy had never even seen them coming. Pouring over the mountains her dragon's came, bringing fiery death from above, and an end to a catastrophic war brought on by greed and ambition.
Tales were told for generations of the fierce warrior woman and her army of dragons. The truth of that history faded as the legends took hold, but no one ever forgot her, or her winged comrades.

Barrasque

http://mingrutu.deviantart.com/art/Earth-monster-469193590

It's name was Barrasque. A creature as old as the forest it had roamed for thousands of years. No one knew where it came from, nor how it came into being.
Did it truly live, with a heart and soul and feelings? Or was it merely an unnatural automaton made from natural materials? No one knew, nor did they deign to ask.
Until one day a bright, curious young lass wandered into the forest singing graceful songs of rainbows and sunshine and picking wildflowers.
From its habitat Barrasque rose at her insolence in intruding upon his solitude. Yet the child remained strangely calm.
For she was completely innocent, with no knowledge that she'd just stepped into the heart of nature's eminent domain, and its fearsome guardian.
To her,  Barrasque was merely another forest creature she might one day befriend. 
It's bewilderment at her courage gave the creature pause, for all who beheld the great and mighty Barrasque had fled before it. Who was she to stand before nature's greatest juggernaut unfazed and unchecked?
Her name was Misa, and unbeknownst to her and the great Barrasque, with their introduction a grand saga of wonder and adventure had just begun.

Down, Down

http://fantasy-art-engine.tumblr.com/post/95906251699/ship-graveyard-by-lok-du

Down, Down to the graveyard of ships. Where dark currents sweep onerous tides of merciless ocean.
Down, Down to the bottom of the briny deep, where the Kraken dwells, and Leviathan sleeps.
Down, Down to the ocean depths, on a bottom of black where the dead shall never find rest.
Down, Down to hulls of night, where predators swim through holes of blight. 

Down, Down to the shadowy Abyss, where no light shines, and no hope is lit.
Down, Down to a sea of doom, through the power of the Maelstrom, and Neptune's will.
Down, Down where no man may dwell, save the dead, drowned and doomed.
Down, Down to the watery hell of the unholy damned.

Forsaken Forest, Forsaken Cave

http://reneaigner.deviantart.com/art/Places-Forgotten-375508720

Drak's Cave only appeared on moon-lit nights; full moons who spread their pale blankets of moonlight across the vast Forsaken Forest. None entered this cavern of nightmares, for here was the domain of insanity, and evil.
Many a mercenary had tried and failed to probe the depths of Drak's Cave. Entire parties of adventurer's had waited impatiently on the threshold of that pale green madness, only to step inside and never return.
No one ever returned from Drak's Cave, until a quiet, unassuming child found her way into the deep, dark forest one night, becoming hopelessly lost from her friends. Unable to feel the dark energy emanating from the glowing cavern, she entered to await the dawn.
The girl emerged on the same day she entered, some nine years later. The world had moved on, her friends had moved on; her family had lost all hope.
She was the same, yet very different. A ill quiet followed her, and the young girl's eyes glowed the same pale green as the phosphorescence of the cave.
Though her lips never moved, she communicated quite clearly, holding anyone near her enthralled. Everyone listened, everyone obeyed.
And soon everyone was brave enough to enter Drak's Cave

The Climb

http://asahisuperdry.deviantart.com/art/temple-437844311

A cold breeze tossled Nar's hair. The mountain looked intimidating, the tower even more so.

But Sheera was locked in that foul prison, and he was determined to get her out, no matter what.

His climbing tools proved adequate to the task, his climbing skills less so. Nar came close to falling on more than one occasion.  But make it to the top at last, he did.

Once there,  Nar's innate talents served him far better than his lack of climbing ability.  In short order he made quick work of the guards, fighting his way to the center of the vast prison.

There his beloved Sheera was tied, bloody and bruised,  to a wooden stake upon which she hung by the arms.

Between Nar and his heart stood one Makron, black warrior and Lord of the prison. The warden's black armor gleamed in the dim torchlight with a shine all it's own. Makron's skill with the long-blade in his hand was well known throughout the land.

But the dark warden's skills were no match for the fierce determination within Nar's heart and soul. In the end, Sheera's lover won the day, defeated the prison and its minions, and escaped with his beautiful bride. 

But the Dark Warden was not so easily defeated.  With fresh blood still dripping from his wounds, Makron watched the lovers flee his grounds.  They will pay, he said as the pair disappeared into the distance.  And pay dearly.

The Long Road Home

http://pidgeonsandpeeps.tumblr.com/post/95735037231/theartofanimation-jose-borges

We took the long road home. Across the world, through storm and sea, and yet we took the long road home.
Why I could not say, nor would I deign to ask. Mine is such to do and die.
For she is my all, my master, my hearts desire. All for her, or all for naught. To the end.
And at the end did we find our purpose, our calling, our quest. She fought valiantly,  as a warrioress of old. Blood and magic.
And now we return home, to rejoice in victory.  Though I know the truth, that soon, we shall begin again.